Je mange ce que je tue. Or is it tues? Shit�

Sometimes I page through an entire book looking for the word “magician.” You hardly ever find this word in a magazine but it’s mentioned in novels more than you might think; in a newspaper tolerably often; infrequently in cookbooks. It is often surrounded by a disappointing sentence. In a Tom Robbins book it’s everywhere.

I’m starting to wonder how long you get before you stop expecting great things. When do you wake up, look in the mirror and think, Self, it’s over: the job that you have now is the job you will always have. Your income bracket will be increased with marriage, lowered with children, decimated with retirement. You will not be spectacular. You were not born to be an artist. You will never move to Paris.

When does that happen? Because frankly I’m not there yet. I still think I’m going to write a novel, despite the fact that about the only thing I write these days is this weblog. I still think I can live in the midwest and play guitar and wear a headscarf, or send weird crates full of small dried fingers home from a dusty unpronounceable country, or be a millionaire’s mistress in New York. I’m ignoring the fact that I can’t play guitar (though I do own a headscarf), I’m allergic to dust and I don’t have nice enough manners to be rich. These things are going to become unimportant once the epiphany hits.

I am a big believer in the last minute epiphany. I’ve stayed in all kinds of uncomfortable situations for too long due to this belief. Sure, I have a deathly bug phobia, but surely that will pass if I just stick it out in this roach trap long enough. Yes, you asked me to marry you on the first date and told me I wasn’t that bright, but maybe if we go out a few more times I’ll see your good side. Roommate wants a cat? Sure. What cat allergy?

Actually, that worked — I fucking loved that cat. Hey! My epiphany theory isn’t all wrong. That’s kind of encouraging. Do not lose heart. Here is a relevant quote for you to enjoy, from Carrie Fisher’s Postcards from the Edge: “She thought perhaps she was in the midst of an anecdote which, for reasons of proximity, she was not yet able to perceive.”

Think about it. And remember the cat.